


Chivalry

by Rozarka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-09
Updated: 2006-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viktor asks McGonagall's permission to take Hermione to the Yule Ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chivalry

Minerva was used to working efficiently in an atmosphere of hormones and volatile emotion, but the way the school had seethed with romantic nerves in the past few weeks was starting to exhaust even her. On just the two minutes' walk to her office, she'd had to dodge Neville Longbottom -- surprisingly gifted dancer, that one -- as he cornered Ginny Weasley with a hopeful look, almost lost her armful of Transfiguration scrolls as the Krum boy shouldered past her into a corridor to avoid a group of girls heading straight towards him, and come to a complete standstill behind Potter and the youngest Weasley boy conferring together in the middle of the stairs, darting glances around them with an air that suggested desperation. "Well, there's Hermione; if nothing else pans out I can ask her," she could hear the redhaired boy hiss as she came up behind them. "I mean, no one else is going to -- it'd be an act of mercy on my part, really--"

Minerva had found herself remarkably ill-tempered as she forced her way past.

"It will soon be over," she soothed herself in a sing-song voice as she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a second, before walking to her desk and emptying her armful of scrolls into a basket provided for this use.

"What will be over?" inquired one of the portraits on the wall. Three of Gryffindor's former heads resided up there, but only one, Ulric d'Arborville, was much of a talker. Minerva found him a bit of a know-it-all and a ponce, and had felt tempted to put him in storage on occasion, but she kept him hanging for his extensive knowledge of Gryffindor history and inter-house diplomacy.

"Yule Ball on Christmas Day," she said briskly. "The students are positively insane with it."

Ulric lit up, stretching a little inside his frame as if to loosen rusty muscles. "Ah, a ball ... I seem to recall that you are a capable dancer, Professor McGonagall. Looking for a twirl on the arm of Albus Dumbledore or --" he paused, tapped a pensive finger at his lower lip -- "Severus Snape on the night?"

Pausing for a millisecond, she glanced sharply up at him, but he was humming a waltz tune to himself and didn't seem to be paying much attention to her reaction. She shrugged out of her cape, flicked her wand towards the fireplace and set the tea kettle on to boil, and sat down at her desk to mark the Transfiguration papers. She picked up the first one, a surprisingly heavy tome, but then put it back as she realized it must be Hermione Granger's. She preferred to mark Granger mid-heap so as not to have her general expectations unreasonably raised at the outset, nor her energy exhausted before she embarked on it. 

There was a knock on the door just as she was about to take her first sip of blackcurrant tea. She sighed and set the cup down. "Come in," she called out impatiently.

The door was pushed open and a very tall boy stepped inside, a little hunched in his fur-trimmed robes. She looked at him in surprise. It was Karkaroff's prodigy.

The boy gave a respectful bow.

"Close the door, please," requested Minerva, pursing her lips as she waited. "Have a seat," she added, somewhat intrigued. She hadn't spoken to Viktor Krum since the day he had been chosen as Durmstrang's champion for the tournament. As an avid Quidditch fan, she couldn't help but admire the young man's talent -- before the troublesome development of Harry's being chosen as one of Krum's opponents, she had thought of arranging for Krum to give a demonstration to the Gryffindor team -- but she was also deeply suspicious of Karkaroff's influence on him. For obvious reasons, she didn't trust Karkaroff's moral fibre as far as she trusted that of the dungeon rats. 

"I prefer to stand," said Krum. He appeared nervous, his sharp young face fiercely intent, his eyebrows knit together to an even more pronounced scowl than usual. His tense position suggested he was about to launch himself into a dive off a cliff.

"Fine," said Minerva. "What can I help you with?"

"As head of Gryffindor, being ze closest to be in ... parents' role for Herm -- Hermy -- Miss Granger ... I haff come to ask your permission--" He took a deep breath, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Your permission to ask her--"

Disconcerted, irritated and not a little amused, Minerva managed to keep a straight face, folding her hands before her on the table. "Mr. Krum, if you have come to ask for Miss Granger's hand in marriage, I suggest you do make the extra effort to locate the girl's parents."

"Vot? No!" The boy looked pained and defiant -- a hint of a temper flaring in his dark eyes -- but he pressed on with dogged purpose. "I haff come to ... to ask your permission ... to ask Herm ... Hermyown--inny--" (they both winced) "--to go vith me to ze Yule Ball."

She studied him, quite taken aback as she digested this development. Hermione was so level-headed, and this feted young sports star was swimming in attention from more easily dazzled girls. But maybe, she thought then, suppressing a smirk, that was exactly it. 

How old was Krum again -- eighteen? He was so definitely a Durmstrang boy; it was as though the weight of winter in that severe, remote place had helped physically shape him, burdening his back, searing him down to stubborn sinew and nerve. He really was a striking boy in that lanky, sullen way, and she wouldn't be surprised if he had some conquests under his belt already. And yet she caught herself thinking that with the beak of a nose and haughty demeanour, he wasn't unlike a young Severus Snape, back when Severus had been a seventh-year.

"I assure you," said Minerva, peering at him above her glasses, "that my students never consult me about such matters."

"Ah. Vell." Krum pushed a nervous hand through his hair. "I thought best to ask. Since she is ... young."

"Well, she is a bit young for you, since you mention it, but a dance won't hurt her," said Minerva, frowning. "May I ask ... your opinion of Miss Granger?" she added, finding herself suddenly curious about this attraction.

The boy lit up like a Christmas tree: his high cheekbones brightening, eyes flashing with conviction. "She is ... beautiful. And ... and very smart. And serious, not like other girls -- not like any other," he added with grave emphasis. 

The quick, warm smile that he didn't seem conscious of made his bird-of-prey features instantly, alarmingly beautiful.

"Have you two been ..." She cleared her voice, belatedly getting a little distressed at having ventured into this direction at all. "Going out?"

"Oh no. No. I haff not really ... talked to her yet." To Krum's credit, he seemed anxious rather than over-confident about his chances. The sweet smile had disappeared without a trace, and he shuffled his feet, looked down at his big hands. 

She sighed. "Not that it's worth a lot, but you do have my permission. However, if she accepts, I _will_ obviously expect you to make the proper concessions to Miss Granger's age."

Krum looked completely at sea, and she blinked, casting about for a more straightforward way of putting it. "No excessive ... er, advances."

There was an awkward silence while Krum seemed to methodically go back over her sentence and try to shake some sense out of it. She could tell the moment her meaning dawned on him: his face went red. "Vot -- she is fifteen!" he burst out.

"Exactly," said Minerva firmly. ( _Merlin_ , when did kids start in Bulgaria?) "And you are, I understand, a rather worldly-wise eighteen. You will appreciate my concern." 

"You -- you British," he stammered in agitation. "You haff very, very ... vot do you say? Dirty minds!"

It took a few seconds to sink in that the flushed look on Krum's face wasn't guilt at having his lustful intentions pointed out, nor disappointment at having them thwarted. The boy, she realized, was scandalized at her implication about his character.

Minerva McGonagall's eyebrows climbed close to her hairline as she bravely tried to adjust to the feeling of being taken for a dirty old lady. She raised her fingers to push back a non-existent loose strand of her perfectly well-ordered hair, finding herself without a ready retort to his accusation.

From somewhere up on the wall came a sound that might have been a suppressed chortle, and she stiffened.

"Professor," said Krum, "I ... my ...Hermyowninny--" She was certain that if he hadn't had to struggle for words in a language he spoke badly, he would have protested to her that his intentions were entirely honourable. "She vill be safe vith me," he shot out finally and heatedly, glowering at Minerva, then attempted to smooth over his poorly checked temper with a brief, stiff bow.

"I ... good," said Minerva weakly, standing up to physically compensate for some of the high moral ground she felt she had lost. "I am delighted to hear it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some papers to see to."

"Vell," said Krum. "I tank you for your time, Professor."

With another dark look, he turned on his heel and walked out. He did seem less hunched than on the way in, though.

She remained looking at the closed door for a minute, unable to help the smile coming to her lips. Ah, the boy's connections be damned ... she had to admit that her overriding reaction was to wholeheartedly wish Hermione Granger joy of her Christmas adventure. As well as a healthy pinch of schadenfreude for that wretched Weasley boy.

And she couldn't stop herself from taking a discreet dance step as she turned and raised her wand to empty her now lukewarm cup of tea and start a new, hot pot brewing.

From the opposite wall came an exaggerated sigh and a chuckle. "Oh dear. Who said chivalry was dead? I do believe the Professor finds herself charmed."

Minerva turned again without hurry, and with a spell sent her cape flying to drape over the peg she had long ago placed conveniently right above d'Arborville's portrait.

Muffled behind the cloth, the chuckling continued. "Now, who did that young man remind me of?"

"Oh, do shut up," said Minerva crossly, sat down and dipped her hawk-feather marking quill in the bottle of scarlet vermilion ink, and went back to work. But a shade of that anticipatory smile lingered on her lips.

She'd rather die than admit it to that blasted painting, but it just so happened that the head of Slytherin house danced a very mean waltz.

 

-end-


End file.
